Force Majeure
by BlackhandCat
Summary: My name is Fiora Laurent, scion of House Laurent and the greatest duelist Demacia has to offer. My name is Fiora and I… have a secret... one that I may never share with another living soul, for as long as I live. Will you... help me keep it? (Warning: This story is a lemon and may contain copious amounts of kinkiness. Emphasis on the kink. You have been warned.)
1. Le pari, un

_Warning: This story will contain copious amounts of kinkiness and smut. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not read any further. Consider yourself warned. If, however, you happen to like your tea with a healthy dose of lemon... please sit back and enjoy :D_

* * *

He is there every night, like clockwork. Without fail, the sole individual left in the old training facility of the Institute of War. After the influx of so many new champions into the league's ranks, a newer and much more modern complex was constructed in the west wing to accommodate everyone's training needs. That new facility really is state of the art to be honest, with alchemically augmented fitness equipment, magic dueling rings, and even an onsen-style relaxation area. The whole nine yards.

_He_ doesn't seem to care though. This old, rundown training room seems to suit him just fine. Free of clutter and distraction… the perfect place for him to ply his craft.

I happen to share his sentiments.

By this time he has already moved from his warm-up and free weight routines to floor exercises. Currently he is practicing unarmed on a wooden training dummy of Ionian design. I can hear the audible crack of muscle and tendon upon teak every time one of his sinewy forearms smacks into a peg… and without fail it never ceases to make me cringe just a little bit inside. His arms must be made of rock to take such punishment; I feel as though my ulna would snap in two if I were to give it a try. Alas, I am a fencer _sans égal_, not some boorish, blood sport gladiator.

I can't help but stare at the lines in his shoulders and back – _you'd _do the same if you were in my position, trust me. His body is so… cut… lean yet muscular like a jungle cat. I have… a thing for slender men. Bulk, be it muscular or otherwise, is neither attractive nor functional. Talon is _la exemple ultime_; every muscle in his body, much like every movement he makes when striking that dummy, has a purpose… and it shows. It doesn't help that he always seems to be clad in the same damn thing every time he trains. That is to say, not much – he is always shirtless with nothing but a pair of satiny training pants resting low on his angular, powerful hips to offer any modicum of modesty whatsoever. His long chocolate-brown tresses, normally hidden beneath some type of vulgar and ominous cloak or hood, are swept back behind his ears right now, tied up with a red ribbon in a rather disheveled and _trés_ _sexy_ bun…

_…ahem._

I am clad in my usual exercise attire as well, consisting of a tight black sports bra, flimsy ivory tank top and sheer black leggings. They offer maximum support and mobility but do little to hide the curves of my… ample assets… the bra and cotton top in particular. Sometimes when I really turn the intensity up my coral nipples can't help but harden quite visibly underneath from all of the… friction. These particular leggings are rather tight in certain places as well, but for some reason that little bit of pain and discomfort seems to put me at ease. My taut, pale midriff is always left bare for training – I need to stay cool after all – so this might be one of the only times you could catch a glimpse of the flowery tattoo that adorns my back and, of course, the sapphire piercing dangling from my navel. Not even my _mother_ knows about that one.

Increasingly so, I choose to go sans underwear when I fight, sometimes even outside of combat these days. What do they call it? Going… commando? Really there is something to be said about the freedom one is allotted… oh, don't look at me like that! This is _war_, not some sort of beauty pageant. Form follows function. Besides, with the faded, burnt-out material of my current leggings, everybody would clearly be able to see the lines of an undergarment underneath anyway. It is better this way. _Cela ne sert à rien. _Normally I would never give my choice of attire a second thought, but this man… he… flusters me in ways I cannot accurately express. Whenever I see him I begin to feel rather self-conscious, like I am being judged in some way. I suppose this is not a new sensation to me. As a female duelist and the youngest child of House Laurent, I have always been forced to prove myself to others. This current feeling… is different however. This man makes me doubt myself on a whole other level. It is not just in the heat of battle either – indeed _everyone_ seems to unconsciously clutch at their own throats just a little bit more when Talon is lurking about, but _this_ feeling is fundamentally different. His mere presence… flusters me.

"Are you ever going to _actually_ work out, or do you just like to stand there and watch?" His low, even voice snaps me out of my reverie almost instantly. Such a rich and deep tone, but so cold… so caustic. It sends a chill down my spine, and I cannot decide whether this is a positive sensation or a negative one.

Wait… _how _did he even _see_ me?!

"W-what? What are you talking about?" My lips quiver just a bit, heart racing a thousand miles a minute as my gaze darts hither and yon. I can feel the heat boiling over in my cheeks as I step out from behind the corner, fingers balled into fists. "I-I _am_ exercising already... s-stretching and doing calisthenics. Keep your comments… and your _eyes_… to yourself, you Noxian cur."

No response. Unless of course, you count the rhythmic slap of his legs and arms against the wooden training dummy as a 'response.' I let out a rather audible sigh, turning away in frustration as I begin to make my way back down the corridor. Perhaps tonight is not a good night to train.

"Figures."

I stop dead in my tracks. My heart begins to pound on its own accord, for reasons I cannot explain. Slowly I turn about to face him again, glaring daggers into the back of his head. "_What_ figures? What does this mean?"

He continues to throttle the training dummy with his sinewy arms of steel, the strikes becoming more and more vicious until one of the pegs simply snaps clean off. I could not make this up. One brutal strike and the peg sails off into the distance as the jagged wooden stump left on the dummy opens up a thin line of blood along the outer edge of his forearm, another scar to add to his already quite impressive collection. He stops now and turns to cast a sidelong glance at me with those lucent amber eyes of his. I can see the profile of his face now… his jaw is so angular and chiseled, with just the merest hint of stubble painted along its sharp lines. A single lock of chocolate-brown hugs his sweat-caked brow and chin, the only strands to escape being pulled back into that bun.

"Figures that you'd just walk away. I may be a cur, but at least a Noxian dog's bite is worse than its bark."

It takes me a moment to process his words and my lip trembles again as I struggle to maintain my posture, brow creasing with something akin to rage. My chest rises as I inhale sharply. Did he just… say what I _think _he did?

"How… _dare_ you insult my abilities like that, you… you… _peasant!"_ I cannot help but spit the words out as I stride up to him with a bit of purpose and swagger in my step. "I am the _finest _fencer in all of Demacia… nay, Valoran. Where _others_ try, I only _succeed._" We are but a hair's breadth apart now and I jab a finger into his bare chest. He reeks of sweat and of manliness and my god, is he _so_ tall. Why did I never realize this? I barely come up to his collarbone.

No… no… think about something else. You are angry_. Stay angry._

"Y-you wouldn't last _sixty seconds_ in a proper duel against me," I growl, my sapphire gaze narrowing with as much contempt as I can muster. He cocks his head to the side in response, arms folding across his chest… and then… he just smirks. Yes, he's smirking. I've never seen him do that before, ever. Until now I wasn't even sure if he was _capable _of it.

"Is that a challenge?"

He gazes down at me in a derisive sort of way. I cannot tell if it is out of contempt or in amusement. Either way, I am clearly _not _amused. At least, I think I'm not… why the hell is my heart beating so fast? I can feel warmth flooding my cheeks, heat dappling the bridge of my nose. It is actually taking a surprising amount of willpower to keep myself from shaking. Why do I feel so… giddy? Talon and I have faced off countless times in the Rift of course, but never alone… never _un á un._

"If you wish it to be, cur. But be advised, I _never_ hold back." It is the truth. As the head of House Laurent, I cannot afford to show any sign of weakness. My guard must always be up and I must be strong, dominant and in control at all times… a difficult cross for me to bear. But more on that later…

"Sixty seconds in a duel," he repeats my words back to me. "No hidden weapons. And if I disarm you?"

I can't help but scoff at the absolute arrogance and pomposity of his words. If he _disarms_ me? Just who does he think he is? "My dearly delusional boy, if I were _you,_ I would worry more about losing a finger or ear than coming close to disarming _me._ If, in sixty seconds, you can wrest _this _blade from my grasp." I heft up my trusty rapier, _la Rose de L'acier, _the Steel Rose_. _I have never lost a duel with this blade at my side. Never. "Not only will I concede defeat, but I will- "

"Do as I say."

I freeze as he interjects with four simple words. For a few moments my lips remain parted in mid syllable, unable to finish. The butterflies in my stomach are swarming en masse and I look up at him incredulously."W-what?"

"If I win… for one week you will do as I say, _when_ I say_, exactly_ as I say. No questions."

My brow narrows sharply. I can feel a cold sweat dribbling down my spine and lower back, pooling in the dimples above my bottom. "W-what kind of-"

"You _did_ say you were the best duelist in Valoran, did you not?"

"Y-yes, but-"

"Prove it."

I glare at him, the only thing I can reliably do right now. My mind is racing, heart pounding. I can barely string three coherent thoughts together and worst of all, I do not know _why._ This is a very dangerous wager indeed. But… there is just no way… no way in _hell_… this man can beat me in a duel. It is just… inconceivable. I glance around for a second, my ice-blue gaze darting from one side of the room to the other, and finally, I look him squarely in the eyes… and I say…

"Fine. I will."


	2. Le pari, deux

_Author's Notes: Wow, such a positive response! Who would have thought that a kinky Fiora x Talon lemon would be so popular? ;P Chapter 2 incoming... sometimes when I get inspired and have free time, I just write and write, and this is the result. Other times I struggle to put down three words on the paper. So please bear with me, dear readers. You can always check out my other stories in the meantime as well. Anyway, without further ado..._

* * *

"Watch yourself." I glare at Talon steely eyed, my resolve burning white-hot inside my sapphire gaze. I will _not_ lose to this… this _mongrel_. Not at my own game. Slowly I heft up my rapier, _la Rose de L'acier, _slashing twice with two lightning-quick strokes before bringing the blade up vertically to my eye line – the first stroke was a form of intimidation and the second to shake my own jitters away. With _la Rose _in hand though, everything just feels… better. Like the world is my oyster to crack open and devour. The blade is designed for true combat, with a heavy basket hilt and wide double edge to permit both accurate cutting and thrusting. "I will not hold back. My pride does not allow it."

He cocks his head rather slyly to the side in response, interlocking his fingers behind his back before pulling down in a deep stretch. _Very_ deep. I watch his taut, slim muscles ripple along the surface from shoulder to wrist, only serving to further accentuate the multitude of thin scars that mar his arms… like so many markings on a treasure map. Each one has a story, I'm sure. "I'd be disappointed if you did," he grunts rather casually in that low, rich tone of his as he rotates his neck from side to side. A few more strands of chocolate-brown find their way out of his hair tie and now those sharp features of his are framed by an utter mess of dark, sexy curls.

"And what if _I_ were to win this duel, hmm? Will you do as _I _say then?" I gaze at him coolly, trying to imagine what such a situation might entail. However to my dismay, the only image I can seem to conjure up at the moment is the thought of this man completely nude, kneeling next to my seat while I use my toes to massage his…

_Oh god… _

"Naturally." He turns now to rummage around inside the contents of a large black duffle bag. "You know… this might be the longest conversation we've ever had." Such a joker, this man. At least I _think_ he is joking; his voice is so flat I can never tell. Another check mark to add to my list of frustrations. _Merde! _Nevertheless, he continues. "I suppose a duel is somewhat like a conversation, though. You'll pose your questions to me with that blade of yours and in return, I'll respond… with _this_." He turns slowly now, the thinnest of smirks forming across his pale lips as he reveals in his hands a gleaming bone-white tachi with an open tsuba, the long handle wrapped in loose cotton strips the color of milk thistle. My eyes widen ever so slightly, but hopefully not enough for him to notice. _Youmuu's Ghostblade. _I am impressed; legend has it this blade could sever the very current of a river just by placing it in the path of the stream. But alas, a weapon, however renown, is only as sharp as the one who wields it.

"Lovely; _another_ boy and his shiny toy. Shall I give you two a moment alone?"

My remark manages to elicit the slightest of snickers from Talon, and I can't help but flash a narrowed grin right back at him. I am going to enjoy beating his arrogant ass.

"Sixty seconds." He glances up at the clock as he rotates his shoulders around and then proceeds to perform a rather… impressive… array of blade spins from one hand to the other, ending in a tight reverse grip, flat edge trailing along the length of his outer forearm. "We'll start in fourteen seconds, at exactly ten 'o clock."

I nod at him silently, gathering myself with a few deep breaths. The seconds tick away and I shut my eyes, visualizing how the duel will play out in my head. This is actually a very important step that many a novice tends to overlook. Being able to visualize the flow of combat in your mind's eye enables you to dictate the pacing and always stay a step ahead of your opponent. It is even harder than it sounds to be honest, but _this _is what separates the good… from the _great_. I crack one eye open ever so slightly though, just to take a peek at my opponent; both of Talon's eyes are closed.

The clock strikes ten with a resounding chime and like bolts of lightning we each disappear in a flash of fading silver lines. Our blades clash for the first time, spitting a shower of white sparks into the air as the steel edges dance against one another. It is a seesaw battle at first, a tidal wave of action and reaction. Power verses intuition, brutality verses agility. Our blades continue to meet again and again but neither side can seem to gain any sort of leverage. I test his defenses; he responds in kind. His fighting style is… unorthodox to say the least: aggressive and unrefined yet so damn relentless… so _vicious_. Perhaps this is why I am having just a bit more trouble than I normally do. He comes at me from all sorts of odd angles and with unnatural movements, throwing his full body weight into one strike only to float past my guard the next. Thankfully my reflexes are fast enough to counter and press his assault back each time.

I glance up at the clock on the wall now. Six seconds left in our duel. My eyes narrow sharply, cobalt violet bangs sticking to the sides of my face from all the sweat, partially obscuring my gaze from view. He was better than I expected him to be; he held his own throughout the match and in return kept me honest as well. Perhaps with the right training he may have even stood a chance. I really hate to admit it, but at this moment I am rather… _excited_… in more ways than one. I can feel the butterflies, _les papillons,_ flitting about in the pit of my stomach as well as a warmth burning further south in my loins… and god, if my nipples were to get any harder, I swear they would cut clean through the fabric of my top.

Alas, this is the difference between he and I. Even if the gap that separates us is but a hair's breadth, the gap exists nonetheless. Talon fights because he _has_ to. I fight because I _want _to.

There is no greater art form than combat... _l'expression ultime_. My blade is the brush and my enemy the canvas. My thrusts are brushstrokes and my enemy's resolve the watercolors. To me, a good fight is like good sex. Unfortunately for Talon, it is time for this master painter to reach climax and finish her work of art. I ready my blade, front heel driving into the tatami as my hips rotate ever so slightly. My torso stays erect and rigid, blade upright and at an angle. I will hit him with a _tempo patinando,_ an advancing lunge so powerful and so fierce that even when Talon makes the inevitable attempt to parry, he will have to choose between losing his footing and losing his head. My back leg extends fully and in the blink of an eye, I am upon him…

…and he just stands there, grinning like the devilish idiot he is.

My sapphire gaze widens, a cold chill running down my spine. Talon makes no attempt to block the strike. Instead, he _lowers_ his guard and _steps in_ to the line of fire, cocking his head to ensure that my blade will come down right across his throat should I connect. _Imbécile, _is he insane?! Does he wish to die? I shut my eyes involuntarily; hesitation laces my movements for not more than a split-second, but even _that _was too much. When I open my eyes… he is gone. Vanished into thin air.

_No._

My eyes widen even further as a rush of air blows across the nape of my neck. I am off balance now, lunging forward like this. I cannot stop my strike midway.

And he is behind me, isn't he?

For a moment there is silence. Nothingness. I can only hear my own heart pounding against the inside of my ribcage, the thrum of blood coursing through my veins. And then I feel his iron grip lash around my wrist, twisting it backwards… his cold steel passing under my other shoulder to lock against the base of my basket hilt. Just like that I falter… and my blade is wrenched free from my grasp, along with my dignity and my resolve. He isn't done yet of course, not by a long shot, but my body and mind remain numb to everything else now. It is all just a blur. His shin finds the back of my knee, his forearm my neck, and in an instant my vision is sent skyward. I am falling… tumbling to the floor… and _he_ is on top of me, his bare chest pressing against my breasts, squashing the air out of my lungs like a deflated balloon. The landing will surely be painful, but as I said earlier I am numb and can feel nothing but _his_ weight, _his _heat bearing down upon me. He has my hands pinned above my head, his sinewy forearm against my throat and his knee driving into the mound between my thighs.

_Oh god. Am I… wet?_

The clock strikes time and both our swords land crossed – hilts up – in the tatami mat not four inches from my head. For what seems like an eternity we just lay there unmoving, eyes locked. Amber upon azure; two golden suns burning up the sky on a clear summer's day. Our breathing is heavy and ragged; my lips stay parted, bright crimson flooding my cheeks. His lips dangle above mine along with his smoky, intoxicating aroma. For the first time in my life… I feel truly, utterly helpless, trapped not only by his body weight but by the sheer _magnificence_ of his dark aura as well. I am afraid and excited… no… I am afraid _because_ I am excited. No… _no._ This is horrible… I _cannot_ lose to him like this… I _cannot_ let him know my secret. It would destroy me.

"Talon…" I whisper finally, the words choked from my throat as his forearm stays planted underneath my chin. "Please-"

"Eight 'o clock." He interjects softly, his voice firm and surly but merely a whisper nonetheless. Slowly, mercifully so, his arm slides away from my neck allowing me to breath again, but his other hand stays planted against my wrists while his knee continues to grind the gap between my thighs.

"Hnnh… w-what?"

"Eight 'o clock," he repeats one more time, his lips threatening to graze my own… but then he simply releases me, rising to his full height as I lay there, too stunned to do anything else. "Tomorrow evening, right here." Slowly he turns to retrieve his tachi, yanking it out of the mats in a reverse grip before wiping the blade clean with his thumb and forefinger, all in one smooth motion. I stare at him in silence as he walks away and then turns at the last moment to cast a sidelong glance right back at me. In that moment his amber eyes seem so fierce, so vibrant, so… _predatory_. I will never forget that feeling, no matter how hard I try.

"Oh, and wear something… pleasing."

The last word he laces with a very deliberate twist of levity and again I can see a smirk forming on those otherwise impassable features of his. I open my mouth to say something, _anything,_ but before I can he is gone and I am alone again, with nothing but the frantic throb of my own heart to keep me company. For the longest time I can do nothing but attempt to catch my breath, diligently counting each rise and fall of my heaving chest with grim resignation. Gradually I can feel tears beginning to pool in the corners of my eyes and as one streaks down my flushed cheek, I reach between my thighs with one very tentative hand, lacquered fingernails drubbing along the sheer material of my leggings, down across my pubic bone to the hidden valley below.


	3. Confiance

Perhaps an explanation is in order.

As you are probably already well aware, I am Fiora Laurent, the youngest scion and current head of House Laurent. I am a duelist without peer; the finest fencer in all of Demacia and though my family has suffered hardship in recent times, we are still proud members of the noble houses and Demacian Council. My life has been one of pomp and circumstance, of aristocracy, rules and regulation. For every situation there is proper etiquette that goes along with it and I am aware of each and every single one of them. Not only that, but from a very early age I was always taught to be supremely confident, to look down upon others and to show absolutely no sign of weakness, ever. We weren't even allowed to cry (not that this stopped me from doing so on occasion) and my mother used to joke that I could wield a blade before I could walk in a straight line. _Le petit escrimeur_, she used to call me. Anyway, as you can imagine, this was _not_ the healthiest of environments for a young girl to blossom in, but alas, I did not know any better. And recently when my father brought his shame upon our family name, I did not hesitate for even a _moment_ to oust him and assume the mantle of head of House Laurent.

I am a strong, confident and proud woman.

But, I also happen to carry with me a secret… a sort of… fantasy if you will; one that I can never share with any other living soul for as long as I live. Why? Because it would undermine everything I have worked for… everything I have established. There are many nights where I find myself lying awake in bed, conflicted – torn between who I _am_ and who I _want_ to be. Of course I cherish my strength. I take great pride in knowing that I am able to hold my own physically and intellectually with anyone in all of Valoran. I am a strong and proud woman, but such strength comes at a heavy price and such pride eventually takes its toll. Secretly… privately… behind closed doors…I yearn… for release. To be possessed, bound by the will of another, used for _his_ pleasure and _his_ desires. I want to live darkly in my own femininity. I want… to be dominated.

I cannot say for sure _when_ exactly I started feeling this way, but perhaps… deep down… it has always been the case? I do remember one thing quite vividly though; when I was very small we often used to play these make-believe games. Do you know them? One was called _chevaliers et les méchants, _knights and villains... very similar to the game of 'cops and robbers' that children throughout Demacia and Piltover play today. Of course, as the youngest of six siblings I was always made to play the role no one else wanted – that of the damsel in distress. I remember how the older children would sometimes tie me up… blindfold and gag me with silk scarves and then leave me under the bed or in a closet, sometimes for an hour or more…

It was all just harmless play of course, but for some reason I still remember that feeling… the feeling of being helpless… and excited… the butterflies in my stomach. The sheer thought alone stimulated me back then and it still does now, just in a very, _very_ different way.

I feel that somehow, Talon _knows_ this.

I do not know _how_ or _why_, but whenever I am around him I feel uneasy. We have never _really_ spoken to one another, but I always feel as though he can see right through me with those piercing eyes of his. Like golden flames they lap at my mental barriers, burning away any façade to reveal the darkness hidden beneath. He is unlike any other man I have ever met; unlike the countless suitors back home who throw themselves at my feet, all those noblemen who are nothing more than spoiled little rich boys having a play at royalty. I have been with a handful of men in my life, but they have all been the same: too proper or weak-willed, too easily pushed around. I am difficult, I know this; a virago not just anyone can tame. But Talon… is different. He is the antithesis of everything I know, everything I stand for… and he treats me… like I am nothing. This only serves to simultaneously frustrate _and_ arouse me to no end.

When he had me pinned down and was making those demands of me, telling me where to be and when, at first I felt like spitting in his eye and slapping him across the face. But then… my heart begins to beat faster and that heat… it just takes over, and suddenly I find myself wishing he would place _more_ demands on me… that he would hold me down and force me to do things I would never…

Oh… this is horrible, horrible. I _cannot_ allow this. I just…

The next day is a blur. My matches come and go and though I manage to win them, I am clearly not playing to my potential. My mind is occupied right now… I can only think of what will happen at eight 'o clock tonight. To be honest, I have not decided if I will even show up. My mind screams at me, berates me… pleads with me to stay away from him. It was a stupid wager anyway. Really, _who_ would take that cur seriously? But then, just as I think I have my mind made up, I can feel that heat… that swelter rising from every corner of my body. I suppose at this moment I am rather like a moth and Talon a burning candle. I am being drawn in against my better judgment and it is only a matter of time before I find my wings seared away by his flame.

It is almost half past seven now. I am staring at my figure, at my own reflection in the mirror, rose-colored lips curved in a bit of a frown. I am wearing nothing but a sexy little ruffled thong trimmed in black lace, a tiny ribbon bow nestled in the back. My smooth, puffy lips peek out from the either side of the flimsy satin material as one hand falls unconsciously to adjust its fitment. A single bead of nectar glistens on the very tip of my fingernail. _Oh god._ I am _already_ wet.

Wear something pleasing, he said. What does that even _mean?_ He is a Noxian killer; a dog trained for war. I am Demacian nobility… I am sure our standards for gratification are probably _quite_ different. Perhaps he meant something attractive, something _visually_ pleasing? But he asked me to meet him in the training room of all places… what if… I've misunderstood his intentions? _Merde!_ Maybe if that man could _bother_ to express himself using a sentence longer than _three _words…

I settle on a snug mini-length wool dress with a cowl neck, the material ribbed and airy, soft to the touch. The pale ivory garment accentuates my figure rather nicely if I do say so myself, slinking along the curves of my hips and ass, leaving little to the imagination.

It is now eight 'o clock and I am _still_ staring at myself in the mirror, brushing my long, feathery bangs from side to side with my fingernails every so often. I loathe to admit it, but I am starting to feel… nervous. I cannot help but think maybe this is a bad idea. Perhaps I shouldn't go after all…

Two minutes later I slip on a pair of cork wedge sandals and make my way to the training room.

I enter to find Talon reclining against one of the workout benches with a half-empty bottle of Bilgewater gin perched precariously between his thumb and fingers. He has his back to me and is sitting there barefoot, in nothing but a tight black undershirt and bootcut leather trousers, the material long since cracked and faded from what I can only imagine to be the harsh elements of Noxian weather. In contrast to that dark clothing his skin seems so pale, like fresh cream… I cannot help but stare at the lattice of thin scars running the length of his arms, or that devilish Crimson Elite tattoo barely visible on the base of his neck. He is _nothing_ like the men back home in Demacia.

"You're late," that deep, rich voice of his cuts through my errant thoughts like a hot knife through butter. How _does_ he do that every time? I am almost positive that he couldn't see me. Slowly he angles his head over his left shoulder in such a way that only one of those simmering amber pools makes eye contact with me. It is enough to make me shiver on the inside.

"It is _six_ minutes past the hour," I snap back with a glare, shrugging off my initial uneasiness. My fingers tug at the hem of my dress as I steer my gaze away from him, over to the far wall. "I did not realize we were still in grade school."

"I never went to school," Talon sighs as he picks himself up from the floor, dusting off his trousers with the back of his hand. "But I _do_ recall telling you to be here at eight o' clock, _not_ eight o' six." He turns to face me with his head cocked lazily to one side, chocolate-brown tresses sliding across his eye line. He holds the gin bottle loosely in his hand now, letting it tap idly against the side of his thigh. "Anyway," The bottle floats up to his lips and he takes a swig before setting it down on the bench next to his duffle bag. "You do look… rather… nice."

Warmth floods my cheeks, slender brow furrowing just a bit. First he berates me like a child and then from out of nowhere, a _compliment?_ Not the most eloquent of remarks, granted… but still… I do _not_ understand this man.

"You _told_ me to wear something pleasing, so I did. _Imbécile._"

My words elicit a snicker from his pursed lips. I get a chill when he does that – when he laughs. "Fair enough." He exhales softly, leaning his sinewy frame against the mirrored walls as he folds his arms across his chest. He peers at me expectantly now, sizing me up with those dangerous, sultry eyes of his. "So, are you going to come closer or just stand there at the entrance like you normally do?"

My cheeks turn bright crimson, the heat spreading down my throat and chest like a wildfire. "Oh _shut up,"_ I retort rather venomously, but like a docile little lamb I find myself leaving the relative safety of the doorway and heading towards him. Every muffled clack of my wedge sandals against woven tatami brings me closer to his enigmatic persona, to his dark, palpable aura until I am standing but two paces away. Try as I might, I just can't seem to look him in the eye. "W-well? Now what?"

For a while there is only silence and then Talon simply sighs, pushing off from the wall to close the gap between us. I can smell his aroma again, that smoky, intoxicating scent enveloping my senses as he nears. And then suddenly, before I know it I feel his fingers clasp boldly around the point of my chin, turning my sapphire gaze to meet his. My eyes lock with his, cheeks flushed, and one hand rises reflexively to grasp at his wrist while the other balls into a fist. "What are you-"

"Do Demacian women always dress so… conservatively?"

My brow quirks slightly and my blood runs cold. I shove his hand away, glowering. _"Conservatively?_ Compared to _who_ exactly… your Noxian whores?" While it is true we Demacians do not traipse around with our undergarments hanging out for all the world to see, last time I checked this was the Institute of _War,_ not the Institute of _Modeling_. "I will have you know that we Demacians dress _appropriately_. There is _nothing_ wrong with a little bit of modesty; a little bit of elegance. In fact-"

"I think," he cuts me off in mid-sentence again and suddenly I find that somehow he has circled behind me. It is so unnerving; in the blink of an eye he does this. I swear this man is like a ghost sometimes. I am now staring at my own reflection in the wall mirrors while his tall, dark silhouette casts a shadow over my features from behind. I gaze at myself, at the way my ample breasts – constrained by the snugness of my dress – rise and fall so rapidly… at the way my neck stays rigid and my single visible eye wavers like the wind blowing on a clear summer's day. I glance at his reflection in the mirror; _he_ is watching me too. "It might be time for a change."

I remain frozen, watching him watch me. I cannot really fathom what he is trying to say. My lips part to form some kind of response, but before I can my eyes grow wide. I can feel his breath, hot and heavy, against my earlobe… the point of his chiseled jawline grazing the back of my raven tresses. A hand has fallen to my waistline where lithe, callous fingers rove the contours of my hip. Even with the heavy fabric that separates our skin, his touch is electric.

"Take them off."

_...what?!_ I am stunned, completely at a loss for words. The butterflies are swarming inside of me again, fluttering about en masse from head to toe. Every inch of my body feels hot and feverish... but numb too, all at the same time. "I-I…" Slowly, unconsciously at first, my own hand rises to caress his fingers at my waist, curling around the edge of his palm. My lips part once more, brow creasing… and then sagacity gets the better of me. I quickly tear his hand away. "I… most certainly… will _not!_ You filthy _scoundrel_ of a man! How could you even-"

"Leave then."

I glare at his reflection incredulously, unable to form even a single coherent thought. He watches me in silence, his own face but an unreadable, emotionless mask. Talon's eyes – those smoldering orange coals – seem to melt right through me, blazing a trail of reckoning straight to the deepest reaches of my private thoughts, my desires. I _should_ be livid… I _should _raise my hand and slap him as hard as I possibly can across that stupid, delicious face of his. But instead we only gaze at each other for the longest time, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. And then he blinks and just turns away, reaching down for that half-empty bottle of gin resting on the bench.

"If you never intended to keep your word, feel free to leave."

His words spur me to action. I wheel about on my heels and begin to walk away, feathery bangs swishing about as I hold my head high. _Idiot. Crétin. Débauché. _I cannot _believe_ he would ask something so… so _vulgar. _My resolve is at an all-time high as I reach the threshold to the doorway.

But then… something happens deep inside of me, like a switch being toyed from within.

I begin to feel faint… dizzy even. There is this tingling spreading from the pit of my chest and navel, down… down all the way to my nether region. I cannot really describe the feeling. My legs feel heavy as if I am trapped in a sea of molasses. My heart is beating so rapidly, I swear at any moment it will burst right out of my chest. _Don't stop,_ my mind tells me. _Keep moving. _But alas, I am no longer listening to the petty concerns of reason.

"M-my… underwear."

My lips seem to move on their own accord now. I cannot believe I am saying what I am about to say. My wavering sapphire gaze remains fixed on the ground as I turn, tears pooling at the corners that I attempt to blink back. At this point I cannot tell if these tears are out of shame… or desire.

"At least… let me keep my underwear."


	4. Coeur captif

_Author's Notes: All the positive comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. Are we enjoying ourselves? I know I am. Chapter four begins... now..._

* * *

He stares at me in silence with his head cocked and that gin bottle dangling loosely from his fingertips, as if to contemplate the simple yet profoundly humiliating request I have made for myself. _Let me keep my underwear._ Not _ten_ minutes into our first encounter and already I am reduced to begging for such things in front of this man. I blame his eyes. Those amber pools are so piercing… so powerful and predatory… indeed I feel as though I am already naked under his gaze, vulnerable and powerless, unable to hide even my darkest desires.

Finally he stirs, exhaling with a bit of a smirk as he pushes off from the wall. He makes his way towards me with a casual swagger in his gait, eyes locked on to me. My own sapphire gaze rises to meet his but I cannot hold it for very long, for I feel as though I may go blind, as if I am staring into the sun. I settle on his collarbone and on his sinewy shoulders instead. There is a jagged scar at the base of his throat that seems to extend almost all the way around... I have never noticed it before until now. It appears to be the aftermath of an attempted garroting. Such a brutal and horrible thing to have endured… I really cannot explain why then, I feel like that scar makes him look even sexier.

"Lift your dress up."

My train of thought derails quickly. I open my mouth to respond – to say _something, _but alas, there is no way I can put into words what I am feeling at this point. He is but a hair's breadth away, prompting me to point my wavering gaze to the floor. Talon's scent, his aura… his… _heat _washes over me like the smoldering blaze of a bonfire. I do not want to obey… I really, _really_ don't… but something deep inside of me tells me that I _must. _Before I know it I can feel my own hands travelling down the length of my ivory dress, fingers curling along the hem to begin tugging it upwards past my thighs. Slowly but surely the edge of the dress grazes the curve of my ass and slinks along my hips and navel, offering up an unhindered view of the lace-trimmed thong panties underneath. _Oh god. _A faint whimper escapes me as crimson warmth floods my cheeks. My… lips… down _there..._ are peeking out from the sides yet again. I can tell from the coolness of the air around me… the flimsy black fabric is already soaked and has managed to bunch up in between them. I shut my eyes tight, feeling tears pooling at the corners; I want to reach down to adjust it, but for reasons beyond my comprehension I can do nothing at the moment but stand perfectly still.

_And oh god am I wet…_

A jolt travels down my spine as Talon moves to take hold of my dress away from me. Slowly he draws the woolen fabric upwards, continuing to peel it off past my pierced navel first, then along each and every rib. I let out a stifled groan when he pauses at my breasts, tugging firmly so the dress squeezes them upwards, only for them to bounce free a moment later. My throbbing coral-tipped nipples ache desperately from the friction, perked up like a pair of rocky nubs atop two mounds of warbling flesh. I suppose this is my punishment for choosing not to wear a bra… at any rate Talon ignores them and leans in closer still, his pale lips but an inch from my ear now. Slowly, almost painfully so, those lips part to inform me of his wishes.

"Put your hands behind your head."

His voice is little more than a whisper and yet his words echo in my mind with all the dominance of a primal growl. With only a bit of hesitation this time I obey; I place my hands at the nape of my neck and interlace my fingers, causing my back to arch while pushing my heavy breasts out even further. My breathing becomes a little faster than usual as the muscles in my hips begin to twitch with anticipation.

"Open your mouth."

I stiffen as I feel his presence looming over me. "W-what… for what reason?" My hands stay bent over my head; another flush working its way into my cheeks and breasts as blood starts rushing to both areas. Slowly he drags his fingers up along my exposed armpits before sliding the hem of my dress to my chin.

"You're going to hold this out of the way for me." He grips the fabric firmly with both hands and presses it to my full, rosy lips. The heat from his breath grazes my earlobe, sending shivers all over my body to places I did not know could receive them. "Understand?"

"…Talon… I-"

"It's a _yes_ or _no_ question, Fiora." He cups my right breast with his palm, the mound big enough to fill his entire hand. His index and middle finger collapse around the base of my areola and he starts to stroke and tug at it emphatically with every word uttered. "Do. You. Understand?"

I flinch, wanting desperately to cry out from the attention he is lavishing on my breasts – my nipples are _très sensitive_ after all - but instead I simply bite my lower lip as hard as I can, in a feeble attempt to silence myself from producing any sort of pleasurable sound whatsoever.

"…nnh_ …Fine."_

No sooner do I consent to his demands does he force the hem of the dress into my mouth, inviting me to bite down upon it like some sort of pet. I turn my flushed face ever so slightly to the side before taking the fabric from him with my teeth, stifling a groan as I stand there utterly embarrassed beyond words, forced to expose myself in such a humiliating manner. Suddenly I feel his fingers clamp around my jaw from behind, turning my gaze back towards the mirrored wall. "Look at yourself," he whispers into my ear, his nose buried against my raven tresses. My bleary gaze shifts back to the mirror; staring back at me is the reflection of a once-proud woman, now reduced to shameful tears… her dress dangling from between her teeth, saliva dribbling down her valley and a thin film of nectar caking her panties and inner thighs.

In other words, I see a shameful little slut.

Talon drinks in my reflection as well, all the while continuing to tease and toy with my nipple. My fingers begin to curl against the nape of my neck as his stroking become slightly more pronounced… _oh god…_ play with the other one too, _bâtard!_

"Good girl. Now then… shall we add a little something more to your outfit?"

His smirk awakens the butterflies in my stomach once more. I whine softly through clenched teeth as he releases me and gives my breast a tiny, playful slap. Playful as it may be it stings nonetheless, leaving behind a throbbing reddish mark. My ice-blue gaze narrows and glowers at him as he disappears off to the side, only to widen when he returns a moment later with something coiled around his bicep. I can feel my heart pounding against the inside of my chest as heat now floods every corner of my body.

_Ropes._

"I know you Demacians would like to believe otherwise," he lilts at me with another smirk as he takes his place behind me yet again. "But Noxus is actually home to a number of vibrant art forms, not the least of which… is rope binding." Beads of sweat wick down my brow; I am unable to look anywhere but else but at the lengthy spool dangling from his fingertips. The rope appears to be twisted from several yarns of hemp, a strong yet somewhat abrasive fiber prone to chafing. I hate to admit it… but in my spare time I have actually partaken in a little bit of… research… on this subject matter. In secret of course; my home state of Demacia is not exactly the most open of places to what others might deem as sexual deviancy.

"Think of this…" the centerpoint of the rope passes through his firm hands and slowly he thrusts it against my naked collarbone, sliding it up under the dangling edge of my dress. "…as a cultural exchange." I stiffen as he encircles me, his movements eliciting a groan from my lips as he takes each rope end and pulls it over to dangle down my back. The centerpoint is taut against my throat now… I can feel it digging into my flesh. My skin is so pale, so sensitive… I _know _this is going to leave marks later. The frayed rope ends flicker against the backs of my calves before Talon gathers them and proceeds to twist them along my naked spine, making one knot at the top of my shoulder blades and another just under them. He moves even closer now, his chiseled jaw caressing my shoulder for a moment as he passes the lengths under my armpits and proceeds to loop them tightly several times around my heavy breasts. Each pass constricts me further and further, my breathing becoming shallower and more pronounced. Alas, I find myself captivated by his hands and the way they work the strands through my makeshift rope collar, down along the valley of my bound breasts until the ends are dangling against my soaked satin panties. The lines in his arms are so strong… so slender yet muscular. I want him to touch me again… just so I can feel his skin grazing mine.

"Spread your legs a bit."

Another whispered command. I cannot help but mewl like a housecat when I feel his fingers lightly tapping against the sensitive skin on my inner thighs, guiding them apart. I am absolutely _dripping_ at the moment; surely he can feel the nectar sticking to my legs. Gathering my wits as best as I can, I manage a small groan of submissive acknowledgement from the back of my throat before taking a single step to widen my stance. How obedient I have become… how submissive indeed. Feelings of guilt and shame lace their way into my nerves as I take in slow and steady breaths through my nose. Absolutely horrible… I cannot allow this man to conquer me so easily.

"Eyes on your reflection," he whispers into my ear as he takes to one knee behind me. I tense up and my heart begins to throb like a nail under a hammer; his fingers have curled around the waistline of my panties and slowly he begins to drag them downwards to my knees. I moan my objection through dribbling saliva and clenched teeth. I want to spit my dress out and curse at him… I want to shove him away. But for some reason… I just…

"Relax. I'll put them back on in a moment."

I watch helplessly as this - my last bastion of modesty - is taken from me, absolutely ashamed at the apparent arousal my predicament seems to be causing. A glistening tendril of nectar glimmers in the light as the fabric is peeled away from between my smooth lips… much to my chagrin Talon reaches between my thighs to scoop it up with a single finger, only to wipe it along the curve of my pubic mound and navel. The rope ends dangle against my exposed flower now, teasing me for a moment before Talon shirks them off to the side. His other hand slides from my outer thigh to my mound, fingers bracketing my lips and spreading them apart to expose the pink flesh in between. My hips buck slightly when I feel a fingernail prodding my clit, running teasing circles around the nub. I can feel the muscles twitching underneath my skin as my instincts urge me to pull away, even while my body continues to push forward in search of pleasure. The ropes pass between my thighs now, those harsh fibers cinched up against my slit and yanked through the crack of my ass. I whine softly through my makeshift gag at this new sensation; Talon seems to be ignoring me completely as he rises to his full height again, pulling the ropes apart at the small of my back and snaking them around my body in endlessly criss-crossing diamond patterns along my tummy and spine. The harness grows tighter and tighter as he finishes lashing the ends through the straps of my bound breasts. True to his word, Talon tugs my satin panties back into place when all is said and done, the crotch rope bulging between my puffy lips and the flimsy black fabric covering them. At this point, it is taking everything I have to keep from writhing in blissful agony.

"Lovely." He steps back to admire his handiwork from afar. "Just… lovely." Talon's voice is so dark… so seductive. I do my best to stand my ground in its presence, my legs trembling from the weight of such distress as they struggle to pinch together at the knees. The sensations are almost too much for me to handle… I cannot make a single movement now without being reminded of the humiliating predicament thrust upon me. I feel as though I am rather like a little birthday present waiting to be unwrapped, the ropes my ribbons and the dress dangling from my lips a pretty white bow.

"Six minutes," he whispers suddenly.

My brow furrows a bit in consternation but before I can _say_ or _do_ anything, I feel a forearm press into my back and a hand cinching up both my wrists. In the blink of an eye he shoves me against the mirror using the full force of his body weight behind me, the cold glass kissing my nipples and swallowing up my breasts. "W-what are you doing?" I cry out as the hem of my dress falls from my lips. "Talon-"

"Six minutes. That's how late you were tonight."

_"__What?"_ I try to turn my head to face him, but the hand on my wrists is pinning my cheek to the mirror as well, the force behind it increasing everytime I struggle. The sapphire piercing in my navel clatters against the glass too, etching spidery scratches along its surface… and _god almighty_ these crotch ropes will _not_ stop digging into my flesh everytime I buck my hips in the slightest.

"Unhand me this _instant,_ you-"

"Cur. Yes I know." Talon's tone remains flat and austere, as calm as ever. "Tonight however, this cur is going to teach you a lesson... about the importance of being on time." I should struggle harder, I know… but his words… his deep, dark voice… everything about him reeks of… _dominance._ Gradually I can feel my resolve crumbling away, bit by bit like a scoop of ice cream melting under the harshness of the midday sun. "A spanking," he continues as his hand slides south now to trace along the curve of my shapely rear. "One stroke for every minute you were late. Sounds fair?"

"Let me go and I'll _show you_ what's fair."

The teasing circles turns into a series of light swats, fingernails tugging at the ropes cinched tightly along the crack of my ass. Every time he does so, the ropes dig further into my delicate folds and I can _already_ feel the hemp fibers down there getting soaked from my juices. "Count each one."

"I-I will do _no _such thing-"

The playful swats are cut short for a moment as he yanks the ropes _hard _this time, forcing me to yelp and stand on my tippy toes.

"Yes. You will."

His breath is hot against my earlobe now… I can almost feel those dangerous lips grazing my sensitive skin. "Six strokes. Count them… I won't ask again." Gradually the teasing resumes. His fingers continue to drub lightly against my bottom for what seems like minutes on end… and then suddenly he rears back, striking me forcefully across the left ass cheek with an open palm. My eyes go wide, breath catching in my throat as I yelp in pain. _That_ caught me off-guard; it felt much more like the lash of a whip than that of a bare hand.

"O…o-one," I whisper shakily, my ego all but broken in a single blow. His hand comes down again, but only lightly this time… to playfully trace the dimples above my ass. Nevertheless I flinch under his touch; I can already feel a welt forming from the first stroke. A few moments pass by and suddenly he rears back to strike once more. My right cheek quivers under the force.

"T…two…"

This time the pain is not nearly as intense, as I am prepared to receive it. I am a duelist after all; pain is not a foreign sensation to me… it is just… I am _unfamiliar_ with this particular brand of it. His hand toys with my taint now, fingertips alternating between tracing the ropes and tugging my lips apart through the fabric of my panties.

And then he rears back and strikes me not once, but _three _times with such force – such violence – I cannot help but scream.

"Th…three! Hnnh… four… f-five..." Tears begin to pool in my eyes, born not of physical pain - even though the unabated heat rising from my bruised bottom is nothing to scoff at. No, these tears clouding my vision and streaking down my cheeks are emotional ones. I am Fiora Laurent, the pride of Demacia… fencer _sans égal… _but tonight, I have been reduced to nothing more than this man's toy.

His hand rears back as if to strike one last time… the fiercest blow yet… and it never comes. Instead he simply relinquishes his hold on me, but not before leaning in to plant the sweetest, most tender trail of kisses along the nape of my neck that I have ever experienced in my entire life. I am too stunned to respond, let alone even move, and as his lips graze my shoulder I can feel his devilish, seductive aura begin to fade from behind me.

"Next time… don't be late."

It has been five minutes since Talon left and I am still here just as he left me, bound in his ropes with tears streaming down my cheeks, body flush against the soothing embrace of that icy mirrored wall.

This is going to be a very, _very_ long week.


	5. Embué

_Author's Notes: My dear readers, sorry for the delay. Moving to a new apartment and a new city will do that I suppose. Anyway, Chapter 5 is incoming and the kink factor is about to get ratcheted up a notch... don't say I didn't warn you ;)_

* * *

"What the _fuck _was that, Fiora?"

I cringe inwardly as that insufferable pink-haired harlot of a woman, Vi, curses out loud from behind my back. I am definitely not in the mood for this right now, so I will refrain from turning around and engaging her. I will not dignify her vulgarity with a response.

"We _had _that one, damnit! That game was ours, but noooo…"

My brow narrows as I shut my eyes, lip twitching uncontrollably. I can feel my fingers beginning to ball into tight fists as well. Oh sure. Blame it all on me, _idiote. _Last time I checked there were _four_ other members on the team as well. Granted, that was not my best performance… possibly one of the worst matches I have ever had in recent memory. I admit I was never quite in it from the very beginning. My offense lacked rhythm and I felt off-balance the entire time. The truth is, I have not been myself lately. Not since… the incident… with a certain infuriating Noxian man. I am distraught right now, in more ways than one. My mind is in a constant daze and my body remains captive to certain… unmentionable sensations… that seek to betray me at every step. Thankfully I am able to mask it, but right now my legs are shaking… absolutely trembling. It is taking every single ounce of resolve I have left at the moment to keep from melting into a pool of sheer agony-ecstasy right here on the spot.

But more on that later.

_"Princess_ here couldn't hold her lane!" I feel an armored hand clamp down on my shoulder, heavy metallic fingers digging into my collar. This vulgar woman's insistence has finally succeeded in shredding the last of my patience. My left hand collapses upon the pommel of my basket hilt and I pivot on my heels. In the blink of an eye the edge of my _main gauche_ is now planted firmly against her throat, threatening to draw a bead of blood down her tattooed neck should _I _elect to be more insistent.

"Say it again. Say it was my fault one more time." My icy gaze glares daggers into the base of her skull. She glowers back at me in return, wincing ever so slightly as her chin is forced upwards at the behest of my blade. I hate this woman's face… her piercings and tattoos… her coarse mannerisms… and especially her stupid pink hair.

"Oh, so _now_ you decide to wake up," she manages to hiss through clenched teeth, despite the pressure from my steel bearing down upon her throat. A faint smirk spreads across her lips and suddenly my ears are filled with the sound of her gauntlets powering up, a distinct mechanized whirr not unlike the chattering of teeth on a cold day. If this… _this harlot _wants to fight, I will not back down, even in my current state of disarray. I am more than willing to oblige.

"That's enough Vi," a smoky voice calls out from somewhere behind us. I shift my sapphire gaze off to the side to spot another familiar figure – a pale, slender woman with long raven locks that fall to the small of her back, her eyes the color of robin's eggs. She is Vi's partner as it were… Miss Caitlyn, the acting sheriff of Piltover City. As usual, she has on a frilly and rather plunging low-cut dress, the ruffled violet skirt barely cresting over the tops of her generous thighs. _Why_ this woman chooses to fight in such attire I will never fully understand. "We're all equally to blame for our lackluster performance tonight," she continues. "No one person is at fault."

"Agreed," a second voice chimes in as another woman hovers beside Caitlyn – and when I say _hovers,_ I mean it quite literally. A buxom, willowy blonde clad in little more than a lacy bandeau and a diaphanous sarong. Janna Windforce, _l'avatar de l'air_, another one of my teammates…and a rather lovely creature at that. For some reason, at the current moment I find myself fixated on the gentle bob of her breasts in the breeze. The shapely curve of her hips as well… and the way those silken garments cling to the contours of her… her…

Oh dear.

Just what_…_ _the hell_… is wrong with me right now?

"Please you two… don't fight," Janna cries out softly as she drifts forward on a seemingly invisible tuft of air. I can feel her presence directly behind me now, her breasts pushing into my back and her hands curling gently around my shoulders in an effort to guide me away and steady my hand. Caitlyn, too, interposes herself between us, snatching up Vi by the bicep and leading her away. We exchange glares as the two of us are pulled apart and a moment later I let out a weighty sigh as the situation is diffused. No sooner does the tension drain from my features however… than my entire body stiffens right back up again when I feel Janna's soft touch dabbling along the edge of my collarbone. My cheeks turn hot and I gasp as I shrug her touch away from me, wheeling about with a huff before trudging off towards the locker room. I hold my breath until I am out of their sight. That was far too close for comfort; had her fingers travelled but a centimeter further south, she would have… felt… _them… _under my clothing_. _The ropes.

Yes. Ropes.

Talon… told me not to take them off after all, so… I listened. I don't know _why,_ but I listened. All night and all day I have kept these ropes on underneath whatever I have been wearing. Even now they cling to my curves, chafing my tender skin and sending waves of painful pleasure throughout my body every time I make any kind of movement whatsoever. My aching clit is especially sensitive at the moment, the smooth nub rubbed raw and red from constant contact with those frayed hemp fibers.

And _that _isn't even the worst part of it, not by a long shot…

I stumble into one of the changing rooms and pull the curtains shut, my legs threatening to give way and send me tumbling to the floor at any moment now. I am trembling… shaking… I can feel tears beginning to pool in the corners of my eyes as I fumble with the snaps on my piecemeal armor. I tear off my slender armguards first, then the molded breastplate and leggings, until I am left in nothing but a skintight ebon catsuit, the contours of the ropework clearly visible as a criss-crossing lattice of diamond patterns bulging underneath. I cannot help but moan softly as my hands trace their bold outlines, starting at the top of my breasts and working my way down to the bottom of my pubic mound… until my fingers collapse upon the edge of a different texture altogether… the base of something long and solid peeking out from between my lower lips. Something held firmly… _inside…_ of me by the ropes cinched through the space between my thighs. A whimper escapes me when I press on it. I can feel the intruding object vibrating ever so softly, pulsing against my flower with a gentle hum, like the subtle purr of a housecat.

I _told _you the bindings were not the worst part, didn't I?

He approached me earlier this morning… took me aside and shoved me face first against a wall in the garden where no one would intrude upon us. He grabbed the back of my hair by the handful before tugging my sundress up past my navel. His chin fell upon my shoulder, and then he placed… _it…_ against my mouth… and coaxed me to caress its length with my tongue while he whispered into my ear, explaining to me what it was. Talon called it a… _vi-bra-tor?_ Some sort of magic device… a sex toy… the latest invention by that lecherous little yordle, one Professor Cecil B. Heimerdinger. I always _knew _there was something odd about that yordle. The way he would stare at me and the other girls through those thick glasses of his, even in the midst of combat…

_Ce bâtard!_

Anyway... Talon turned the device on shortly after that. I will never forget the first time it kissed my flesh. That throbbing sensation… never before had I experienced anything like it. Before I knew it he was sliding it along my dress and against the rope harness underneath, teasing my hardening nipples… running circles around my navel for minutes on end. He told me he was going to leave it…. inside of me… and that I was to control myself – I could not cum without permission. Naturally I protested; I wanted to fight him, but I felt so weak… so_ excited. _I was _so _wet… I couldn't help it.

I craved his domination.

"Fiora?" Janna's melodic voice snaps me out of my reverie, dragging me back into the present. My arms move reflexively to hug my own breasts, even though I am alone in the relative privacy of the changing room. I plop down on the bench right after, accidentally pushing the toy _deeper_ inside of me as I sit squarely atop it, the newfound pressure eliciting a wanton moan that I manage to curtail at the last possible moment. "Fiora… is something the matter?" She asks through the curtain as I struggle to maintain my composure. "You seemed troubled today… are you feeling unwell?"

I have to fight the urge to scoff out of sheer irony. I'm feeling _something,_ alright. But I dare not say that out loud now. I just need her to leave… I need them all to leave. "I-I am fine, Janna. J-just tired, that's all. Nothing to worry about, really." I try my best to convince her of my sanity and wellbeing… and I try _not _to imagine my legs wrapped around her head as she uses her soft, fleshy tongue to...

"A couple of the girls thought it would be nice to relax in the onsen tonight. Will you come with us? I think a little heat and steam might do you some good."

I bite down on my tongue, trying in vain to replace one type of agony with another. Naked… at the hot springs… in front of all the other girls… looking like _this_. Try as I might, I cannot possibly imagine a more humiliating situation. "T-that sounds lovely… but I think… I will have to pass… tonight." I try my level best to keep my tone as flat as possible and when I am finally able to convince her to leave, I can _still_ do nothing but sit there in the privacy of the changing room… wallowing in my own lust, waiting for the other matches to finish and for all the other girls to leave the locker room as well.

_God_ _help me… I'm so wet right now._

I cannot say for certain how long I have been here. An hour? Maybe two? I have lost all track of time now, no thanks to this… this… _thing_ inside of me. Its vibrations keep my thighs slick and my body permanently on edge. I am in a constant state of arousal and denial. I do not think I can hold on much longer…

One by one the voices of the other girls fade away until I am absolutely certain that I am the only one left in the locker room. Slowly I reach for the curtain, peeling it back so that I can peer into the main hall. Now is my chance; if I cut through the library and the old training room, I can make it back quickly to the safety of my room without anyone seeing me. I step out of the changing room and carefully hug the sidewall as I head for the exit…

And then I freeze.

A muffled noise breaks the silence, emanating from somewhere on the other side of the room. It sounds almost like… the moaning of an injured animal? Am I hearing things? Slowly I make my way to the edge of the locker row and taking a deep breath, I glance around the corner.

And then my eyes go wide and I swear my jaw nearly drops to the floor.

There, in the center of the room, is Vi. She is completely naked save for a sable blindfold over her eyes and shiny red ball gag between her teeth, tattooed frame bent over a high table with her wrists and ankles anchored and cuffed apart. Her taut, sinewy body is slick with sweat and possibly one or two other fluids… her ass has been upturned in such a way as to provide not only an unhindered view, but easy access to her helpless nether region as well. Vi's nipple piercings clatter against the tabletop whenever she squirms, the rhythmic sound almost like an accompaniment for the chorus of mewling and heavy breathing wafting from her lips.

Kneeling behind her with hands squarely on hips, clad in little more than a playful smirk, is none other than Caitlyn. She is topless; I never fully appreciated just how large Caitlyn's breasts were until now. They are almost as big as _mine_ I think, though she is nearly a full head shorter than I am, and that combined with her willowy figure makes them appear more massive than they truly are. At the moment however… it is not what she _isn't _wearing that has me completely speechless… but rather what she _is _wearing_. _Fastened between her legs by several leather straps – standing proudly and boldly erect – is a thick, turquoise strap-on.

_"Somebody_ was rather naughty today, wasn't she?" Caitlyn coos like a dove as she places her hands on Vi's upturned bottom, fingernails digging into the woman's plump, naked flesh. Vi's ass is a rosy pink - much like her hair color - no doubt from all the attention it has already received. I cannot help but stare, dumbfounded, as Caitlyn uses both hands to spread Vi's cheeks apart, all the while rubbing the length of the strap-on back and forth against her exposed flower. That faux phallus seems to glistens in the light with womanly juices and lubricant, the molded tip dribbling a trail of nectar right along Vi's crack, eliciting a moan from the gagged woman. Vi is drooling rather uncontrollably now; the large red ball stuffed in her mouth prevents her from doing much of anything else. "I think _somebody_ has earned herself a proper arse fucking, wouldn't you agree Vi?" Caitlyn's breasts, unhindered by the confines of her frilly dress, warble seductively as she presses the head of her strap-on against Vi's puckered rim, preparing to take her from behind. I am frozen… horrified and captivated all at the same time. My own arousal intensifies as I play the part of voyeur and suddenly I find myself pressing my own pubic mound into the molding of the doorway I am hiding behind, unconsciously thrusting the vibrator in and out of my sex with slow, rhythmic undulations. I let out a stifled whimper; for a moment I even contemplate bursting into the room to join them. I just want… I need… release…

From out of nowhere a strong hand encircles my waist, dragging me back into the shadows. I open my mouth to cry out but a second hand clamps firmly over my lips just as they part, turning my vocal surprise into nothing more than a pitiful yelp. My own hands rise to latch onto the forearm clasped about my head now and my breathing elevates as I struggle.

"Shh. Not so loud."

That voice. That tone. So deep and so rich… I swear it haunts my dreams. My floundering ceases as Talon presses his lips against my earlobe, his sinewy arms wrapped around me, the heat all-consuming. My cheeks are flushed now and my breathing turns to mewling moans against the palm of his hand. The power this man has over me…

"I always pegged Vi to be the 'giver' in _that_ relationship," Talon snickers, his breath hot against the nape of my neck. "Looks like Caitlyn had other ideas." Slowly his hand falls from my mouth and moves instead to squeeze one of my supple breasts from underneath, fingernails prodding the outline of my areola.

"T-Talon!" I half-gasp and half-whisper, my voice nearly catching in the back of my throat. "What the _hell_ are you doing here? Are you illiterate? This is the _ladies'_ locker r-"

His hand clamps back over my mouth. With a firm tug he cocks my head to the side so I am forced to stare at his chiseled jawline… and right into that predatory, sultry gaze of his. Talon's chocolate tresses are swept back into a loose bun at the nape of his neck again, just like when we first met.

"You're late." His brow narrows, a playful scowl working its way into the crease of his pale lips. "Again." He inhales sharply as he shuts his eyes for a moment, slowly returning his attention to the spectacle unfolding before us. "Though as far as reasons go, I suppose this is a fairly good one." His palm falls from my mouth once more and his other hand has found its way to my pubic mound now, fingers mercilessly prodding the outline of the vibrator against my skintight clothing. I cannot help but shrink at his touch.

"T-Talon… _please._ D-don't touch it."

"Why not?" His teeth sink into my neck as he continues to force the vibrator deeper inside of me. In and out… in and out. I buck my hips against his touch; I can feel a bulge pressing into the curve of my ass from behind. I have forgotten all about Caitlyn and Vi at this point.

"Because… _nnh_… I can't… control…" Tears begin to pool at the corners of my eyes as the playful torture continues. I find myself at wit's end. "Talon… c-can… can I cum now?"

…I cannot believe _those _words just came out of my mouth. I cannot believe that I, Fiora of House Laurent, have been reduced… to begging… for such a vulgar and indecent thing.

_"Right_ now?" He teases me with his lips and his words alike, nibbling on my shoulder like I am nothing more than a mere chew toy. I tremble in his grasp now – writhing uncontrollably – my rear flicking from side to side now as it grinds boldly against the seam of his crotch.

"Please… I-I'll do… anything you say. Just… let me-"

The teasing stops rather abruptly. His fingers collapse upon the point of my chin and once more I find myself forced to stare directly into those unbroken amber pools that pass for his eyes. It is like gazing into the very depths of the sun itself.

"Anything?"


	6. Coût

Back home we have a popular saying. It is a phrase often heard when something your heart desires eventually begins to consume you, so much so that in the end you find yourself paying far more for it than you would have ever hoped to bargain for. _Coûter la peau du cul, _they say. Literally, it translates to "costing the skin of your ass."

I think… I now understand where this saying comes from.

I am kneeling on Talon's bed with my legs splayed, naked and bound, thighs cinched to my calves while being forcefully spread by a thin black bar fastened to the nooks of my knees. My hands are tied as well, forearms and biceps bound tightly behind my back with the palm of each hand meeting flat against the other, right along the center point of my naked spine. Reverse prayer pose… I often use this stretch when warming up for fencing practice, to open up my shoulders and chest. I have always thought it to be rather… sexual though… in a kinky sort of way. But this… never would I have imagined this. I can do little more than wiggle my fingers. The rough, untreated ropes bite into my wrists and knuckles like a swarm of angry hornets, there nest overturned. My shoulders are on fire as well. The pain is insufferable; the humiliation even more so. The old rope harness is gone, but his toy… that dreadful _vi-bra-tor_… stays buried inside of me, its flared base humming softly against the bed sheets only to send further shivers down my spine. I am trembling from these sensations – on the very edge of sexual sanity – but I cannot give in. Not just yet…

Talon said so.

I feel him _right _behind me now… his musk and heat enveloping my senses. His hands snake to my bound wrists in mock prayer, tugging them away from the crease between my shoulders blades. Again the torment is intense, but the intended effect is clear; my glistening breasts are pinched upwards as my head and arms saddle back, sweaty cobalt bangs sticking to the sides of my face as I groan… a sound caught somewhere between the depths of pleasure and pain.

"Talon… w-what are-"

My words are cut woefully short; a hand collapses upon my chin and turns me so his lips can swallow my own. He is kissing me. Talon is kissing me, suffocating me with sensual insistence. I feel a swelter rising up from my loins; blood rushes to fill my cheeks. My servility is rose-colored. Oh _god. _My heart is pounding. _Please_ don't stop…. _please_ don't…

He stops.

But not before letting his teeth nip at the plump, sensitive flesh of my lower lip, dragging another whimper out along with it. "You said…" His voice is always so dark, so rich and seductive. "You said… you'll do anything, right?"

"Y-yes… b-but-"

Excess rope unravels from my neck and now he passes it through my mouth to sit between my clenched teeth, winding it six or seven times around my head before knotting it firmly to form a thick, ropey bit gag.

"Bite down and don't let go."

Just like that my protestations are cut short, the words becoming little more than muffled, unintelligible moans. He smirks before pushing me down with a single finger; I flop backwards on the bed, yelping softly as the weight of my body bears down on my bound arms. "Good girl." He is towering above me now, his amber gaze never faltering from my ice-blue eyes. Slowly he begins to work his diaphanous full-sleeve shirt from his torso. First his chiseled abs… even the lines of his hips are angular and defined… then his chest, smooth as glass… and finally his arms. Cross-like scars stretch from shoulder to wrist along glistening olive skin. That Crimson Elite tattoo coiled around his forearm – a black serpent, eye sockets seeping red ink – seems to hiss at me wildly as its scales twist along every sinew of his muscles.

"Tell me again what you want, Fiora."

My heavily-lidded eyes begin to flutter and I let out a curt moan. _B-bâtard! _He knows _exactly _what I want! He only does this to frustrate me further. My lips curl around the edges of my makeshift gag, working to annunciate the words once more as I writhe underneath him. "M… mnuhnh… cuhm…"

A stifled little laugh escapes his lips as he leans over me, his breathing tickling the very edge of my lobe. His body is so close… I want to reach out and lick his skin… I want to feel his lips on mine one more time. "Fine. But only… because you asked so nicely." There is a pause before Talon rises once more, nudging me to roll over onto my tummy. I groan in protest at first, but then with a grunt I turn to find my face smothered in his bed sheets, knees cocked and backside shooting into the air in such a way that everything I am is now fully exposed to the lamp of his gaze. My arms and shoulders are on fire from being bound in such a painfully restrictive position… and yet… I am numb to it… numb to the pain. Goosebumps prickle along the flesh of my biceps, neck and thighs and my heart begins to pound against my chest. I can hear the sound of his belt buckle clattering against the wood floor. He is kneeling behind me now… I can feel his heat… and more importantly, the weight of something rather massive, something warm and girthy resting atop the curve of my bottom. The heft alone is enough to make me shiver.

He takes hold of each warbling cheek first and I groan into my gag as warm droplets of his pre-cum intermingle with my own juices, forming a cascade of wetness down the crack of my ass. His fingers brush lightly against my smooth pubic mound before collapsing upon the base of the vibrator. I moan in woeful bliss; slowly he proceeds to slide the toy out of me, its phallic length coated in a thick, sticky layer of womanly nectar. "Such a lovely sight," the whisper escapes his lips, almost a groan, as his fingertips travel upwards to rake and prod the pink flesh of my newly exposed honeypot. He moves to tease my dribbling slit with his shaft, using his nails to spiral small, tight circles around my hood at the same time. I whine softly in response, unable to form a coherent reply from behind the thick ropes parting my lips. My nostrils flare as I fight to suck down the balmy, heavy aroma that seems to saturate every fiber of my being… the smell of sex. "Tell me Fiora," he whispers and suddenly I feel a thick globule of his saliva landing just above my puckered anus, with two fingers moving to massage the fluid vigorously against it.

"Have you ever been fucked in the ass?"

My eyes grow wide and my heart skips a beat altogether. The answer to that question is a very, _very_ emphatic no. Without any warning whatsoever his finger slips inside of my perilously tight little star, just a pinky, but Talon begins to pump back and forth with it and suddenly the feeling of his cockhead seems to linger not far behind. I can feel my inner walls gripping at his invading digit, trying in vain to buck free from this wanton advance. My shoulders beat against the bed sheet as I scream a string of unintelligible curses, knees drawing in as if to pull forward… but my movements are met with the swiftness of his open palm against the bindings holding my hands in that infernal prayer position. The fingers teasing my asshole move to lash around my ankle and he drags me back under him, his knees pinning my bound calves this time. "Where do you think you're going?" A sharp sting winds into blistering pain as the weight of his cockhead pushes against my pucker. Slowly he begins to sink in, my virgin-like muscles struggling to allow him deeper passage. I am sobbing… whimpering… writhing in his grasp, and it is only when Talon hilts and his balls slap lewdly against the lips of my flower do my eyes grow wide once more and a shrill, raspy moan leaves my throat.

"You didn't think it would fit, did you?" I feel his hand relinquish its grip on my bindings and begin to faintly trace down my spine, stopping only upon reaching the dimples above my bottom. His fingers dig into these creases as he rocks his hips gently against me, his thumb prodding the rim of my poor pucker all the while. "And yet…" He leans forward now as if to punctuate every word with physicality, driving his hips hard and fast – if only once – against the firm flesh of my bubbled backside. A groan, low and weak, manages to escape my lips as he holds himself there for what seems like forever, thrusting into me as if this man would mean to split my body in two from sheer force of will alone. It isn't until Talon rears back that our ears are met with the richest of my moans yet, torn straight from the pit of my lungs and vocal chords. Slowly, gingerly so, Talon takes hold of my hourglass hips and proceeds to slide himself out.

_Seven inches. _

His body is like a piston and my ass the cylinder. I can feel his pre-cum burbling inside of me… so deeply that I fear for a week I will have no choice but to leak his seed every time I sit down.

_Four inches._

I can feel my inner walls relaxing and then clenching furiously from never having been used in this way, constantly growing lax before snapping to full tension around the heavy girth of his retreating member. I imagine to him it must feel somewhat pleasurable, as if I am massaging his cock.

_Two inches._

"Fiora, you're _dripping._" A thin rivulet of feminine nectar dribbles from my cunt and Talon happily takes it with his fingers to smear against the nub above my raw, aching flower. Only his tip remains inside of me now... it sits right at the rim and for minutes on end this man seems rather content to simply tease me like this. His nails bite into my flesh as he rocks back and forth, popping in and out of me each time. I cannot help but curl my toes and whimper.

_One inch._

"What do you have to say for yourself?" He leans over me with the full weight of his body resting on my backside, the point of his chin between my neck and shoulder blades. I feel a hand slip between my thighs to scoop at the honey trails along my inner thighs, spreading them apart in preparation for further torment. My head begins to spin at this new sensation and I can only moan wordlessly into the spit-soaked, stringy rope ends twisted between my teeth.

"Spoken like a true bitch."

His tone is so low and smoky… utterly devilish. Slowly he proceeds to angle his hips and slide back in – halfway only – but then a jolt shoots up my spine and he lurches forward, his shaft parting my bottom and his sack slapping against my taint with a lewd, wet thud. I whimper. _Like a true bitch._ That single statement has my head swimming. Clap after clap rings aloud as Talon finds a steady rhythm, my aching bottom jiggling as he hilts inside of me time and time again. Each thrust forces a low, mewling moan from my lips and sends my head and breasts bouncing off the bed, nipples rubbed raw from the heat and friction. Thick, heavy moans pour from my lips and I can do nothing but writhe beneath his weight… his dominance. Talon's downward pistoning places so much pressure against my drooling cunt that my eyes begin to roll back within their sockets now. I never imagined the pain would be so intense… the pleasure even more so. I think… I'm going… I need… to…

"Cum."

The full force of his weight bears down upon my helpless, bruised bottom for one parting thrust. The final blow is like a hammer and I feel his shaft spasm deep within as something white-hot coats the inside of my bowels. Euphoria takes over and my body turns rigid. My tongue falls free with a low, mewling moan, drool pooling under my chin. I can do nothing but writhe in sheer agony, milking his cock with my ass over and over again. _Like a true bitch…_

He lays atop me now, every sinew in his chest heaving against my spine with slow, deep exhalations. Wordlessly and rather tenderly he plants his lips against the nape of my neck, giving a kiss at the edge of my raven locks before moving to slide out from between my cheeks. His seed fills me, flooding me with warmth that clings to my inner walls. So much seed. As my consciousness fades I can feel hot, sticky rivulets leaking from the seal of his manhood against my rim. My shoulders no longer burn; I am numb to everything but the sensation of my ruined bottom… a smoldering, gaping crater leaking cum and sweat across the backs of my thighs. My eyelids grow heavy, my body weak and weary. My mind is vacant and right now I am little more than a puddle of lust, a pool of pleasure and ruined femininity.

Like a true bitch.

_His_ bitch.


	7. Rivalité

He is going to be the end of me.

I am curled up in a little ball on top of my bed, clad in nothing but a pair of sheer black boy shorts and a tight ruby bra that struggles to keep my ample bosom in check. My face is buried in the sheets, the wrinkled cotton fabric already quite damp from my tears and a just little bit of sweat as well. My cobalt violet locks stick to the sides of my face, the strands long since matted against my rosy lips, cheekbones and the thick, dark lashes surrounding my swollen eyes. I have been like this for the better part of a day now. I've not left my room at all – not even once – not since what happened… last night. My bottom still aches from having been abused in such a way. The flesh is raw and hot; I can almost _feel_ his cock throbbing inside of me still. The phantom pain sends a thrum of heat along my core, spreading up from my nether regions to dance along the very edge of my spine. It is as though my mind can conjure, with perfect recollection, every ounce of pleasure and dollop of pain that Talon drizzled over my body the night before. The teasing… the fucking… the kissing… and the spanking he administered to my ruined bottom after all was said and done.

_Tell me what you want, Fiora._

I can hear only his words echoing in my head at the moment and nothing else. That single statement… it rings aloud in my ears over again and again. I will never forget the deep, rich tone that whispered those words, no matter how hard I try. His voice is like a spider's web to my fly. What I would do to just to hear it say my name one more time. The thought alone frightens me.

_Tell me again what you want._

When he uttered those very words to me… when I was naked, helpless, bound and gagged… and _he_ was towering above me with all his masculinity, wearing little more than a simmering gaze and devilish smirk… I thought to myself in that moment… I would _crawl _on my hands and knees, over _broken glass _and _fire_ for this man, just to feel his palm caress my head… if only he endeavored to place such a demand upon me.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I know Talon is going to be the end of me.

I roll over onto my back, letting my hand slip along my warbling breasts to the inward curve of my tummy. My nails flick rather incessantly at the sapphire piercing dangling from my navel – a nervous habit I often indulge in when I am lost in another world of thought. As I lay there, fingertips tracing over the mottled pattern of rope burns marring my otherwise pale and perfect skin, I cannot help but languish in my current predicament. What started out as a simple wager – stupid as it was – has now turned into a very dangerous game of sexual dominance indeed. These marks on my body… these patterns dappling my flesh, etched into my skin under the sting of rope and open palms… they are more than just mere bruises. No… they are signs… a claim of Talon's ownership over my mind and body. He means to warn me (and indeed any other who might gaze upon my naked body) that I am _his _property and _his _alone.

Why… _oh why_… does that make me so wet?

My hand travels further south now as I unconsciously begin to spread my legs apart. The tiniest of moans manages to escape my lips and I find my fingers burrowing under the sheer fabric of my undergarments, nails raking the milky smooth flesh of my pubic mound hidden underneath. Heat spreads from my nether region… I can feel my thumb hook into the waistline of my panties now, dragging the flimsy fabric down until the very top of my glistening lips kiss the cool evening air. My face flushes and my pulse quickens. A bead of nectar pools under my nails as I flick my lips apart, exposing the velvet pink hidden within. Oh, of course I am wet… dripping in fact. I've been a mess like this ever since that first night he challenged me.

The heat begins to spread along my neck and collarbone while my nipples stand painfully erect. I imagine him looming over me now, his sinewy body casting a shadow over my own as I am forced to pleasure myself for his enjoyment. He gazes at me through a veil of searing amber gold, a smirk on his lips. _Keep your pussy spread,_ he whispers to me. _If you don't, you'll be punished. _Wordlessly I obey, my hand trembling as I grip my lips and spread them further and further apart. _That's it. _His smirk turns to a grin. _Just like that, Fiora._

_Good girl…_

My middle finger collapses upon my slit to trace its length from top to bottom, stopping only to run teasing circles around the nub. _God…_ it aches. Every time the point of my nail prods my clit I cannot help but shiver and whimper. I have to cover my mouth as I pump my digit deeper inside… harder… faster… my thighs are slick with nectar, my panties and bed sheets stained thrice over. _Deeper._ I am tighter than usual it would seem… I may not be able to fit more than two digits this time. But then again… I thought the very same thing when Talon decided to take my ass from behind. Another moan rises from my throat and my hips begin to buck wildly against my own touch. My body tenses, toes curling. The scent of sex permeates my nostrils and my breathing grows shallower by the second. The ache is too much… I am on pins and needles now. I cannot… _nnh_… I…I'm going to…

"…"

The sixth time today.

I admit it. I am a mess. My nerves are shot, body like a bowl of jelly… and to top it all off, I think that was my last pair of clean underwear.

Enough!

I must put a stop to this… this shameless self-indulgence. How is this even happening? I am a duelist, for heaven's sake! The pride of House Laurent. I just… I… I must not give into these submissive thoughts swimming through my head, no matter how much I long for them. I need a distraction. Some sort of diversion to take my mind off of Talon… away from his dark, delicious depravity I find myself craving more and more as of late.

Fifteen minutes later I am back in the old gym where our encounter first began, hacking away at a training dummy with wide, savage strokes from my trusty rapier, _la Rose de L'acier. _I kept the ruby bra on but decided to rid myself of those soiled panties in favor of a pair of slim black training shorts instead, the shiny fabric taut against the curves of my hips and upper thighs. I suppose it all doesn't really matter now… everything is completely drenched again anyway. Beads of sweat dribble down my chin and throat in glistening rivulets, only to pool in the valley of my breasts; my bra has already turned a darker shade of red in the process. My bare midriff is slick with moisture as well. The lines of my shapely curves and subtle yet firm musculature glisten in the fading twilight every time I make a move.

I do not care who sees me like this now. With every thrust and lunge, I grit my teeth harder than I have ever before in my entire life. The sword strokes become faster and more forceful as I continue to hack away at the dummy, yet no matter how hard I strike it just isn't enough. I can feel a torrent of emotion bubbling to the surface now, all that pent-up anger… _no,_ not anger but… frustration… at my current situation. Once again, I am torn. Torn between the woman I am and the woman I long to be. My vision grows blurry and _la Rose_ seems to be getting heavier in my grasp with every passing moment. I'm no longer even striking the training dummy. With tears in my eyes I lean forward to bury my face against the straw.

Why… of all people… did it have to be… _him?_

"F-Fiora?" A timid little voice squeaks out my name from somewhere behind me, startling me out of my tearful misgivings. My grip on _la Rose_ reaffirms once more and I stifle a sniffle as I return to the task at hand of mercilessly eviscerating the straw dummy with heavy sword strokes. That voice… I would recognize that mousy little thing anywhere. I must admit, I harbor a bit of antagonism for the owner of that voice, and the issue is only further exacerbated by the fact that she is far too dense to realize it.

"Fiora… I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Actually Lux… yes. Yes you _are_ interrupting something. That is what I would _like_ to say to her, at least. Instead, what comes out of my mouth is little more than an unintelligible grumble, interspersed between measured huffs as sweat and tears continue to dribble down my chin. I cannot allow _her _– a Crownguard – to see me like this, in such a state of emotional disarray. Her family sits at the head of the Demacian Council, right at the foot of House Lightshield. I cannot show weakness in front of her. Not _her_, of all people.

_God_ I hate Lux.

I cannot say exactly why for certain – indeed, it may be somewhat irrational on my part – but for some reason… I just cannot stand this girl. I do not think it is her personality, bubbly and effusive as it may be... and I recognize her skill in the arcane arts, just as she recognizes my martial prowess. No, it is something on a more fundamental level. Perhaps it is because I feel as though she and I could be two sides of the same coin, but whereas throughout my life I have been forced to prove my skills in the eyes of others… s_he, _on the other hand, was simply born into it. She knows _nothing _of struggle, _nothing_ of being underestimated and taken lightly. A prodigy they called her, the dear darling of Demacia… loved by many and adored by all.

Well, _almost _all, anyway.

"I…I need… some advice," Lux continues now, her normally gushy temperament somewhat subdued for some reason. Her words trail off ever so slightly as I feel her advancing upon me from behind. "I-I… didn't know who else to turn to. You're the only one who-"

"Advice?" Incredulous, I echo the word right back at her, all the while furiously trying to blink back tears from the corners of my eyes as best as I can. What could I _possibly _advise this girl on that her army of caretakers and counselors couldn't do a better job of? I grit my teeth and proceed to bury my rapier in the maw of the training dummy, blade skewering the thick straw mats and embedding itself to the hilt. A heavy sigh escapes my lips and slowly I wheel about to face her, chest heaving as I wipe my sapphire eyes with the back of my forearm. Our gazes make contact for the first time. "About… _what _exactly?"

"W-well…" she blushes, her azure gaze falling to the floor. Lux has on a short, frilly little plaid skirt, dark stockings and a lacy cotton top, ruffled at the edges, with a baby blue ribbon tied in a bow under her breasts. She is rather petite, even by Demacian standards, curvaceous but slim… not unlike myself I suppose. Her long blonde hair seems to shimmer in the darkness, bangs curling into pretty little ringlets at the very tips. I imagine her hair must feel as soft as silk. Personal feelings aside, I cannot deny that Luxanna… is rather… attractive, in an innocent sort of…

…_ahem._

Let us _not_ go there, please.

"This is _so_ embarrassing," her eyes dart from left to right before settling coyly back on me. "B-but… I…" She stops again and inhales sharply in what I can only imagine is an attempt to muster some courage. "I... I need your advice… concerning… a man." She exhales and blinks once, gazing at me expectantly. Her cheeks are now a bright, solid red; mine are quickly following suit it would seem.

Did she really… just ask me… for relationship advice?

_Me?!_

Oh god. The irony is almost too much to bear."C-come… again?" I whisper, unsure if I am hearing her correctly. My head cocks off to the side slightly as my lips part, sweat-slick violet bangs sliding away from my eye line. "You want… _my _advice… on-"

"Well, you see," she interjects with a huff as her gaze falls to the floor once more. "There's this person… a man… that I like… umm, well… I suppose it's stronger than 'like' really. Maybe… it's… love? I don't know. I mean… I _think_ I do, but…" Her hand rises to meet her lips and she begins to chew on the ends of her lacquered cyan nails before taking another deep breath.

Oh dear. I know where _this_ is going.

"We've spent a lot of time together in the past," she exhales and continues. "Not so much recently, and by recently I mean _very_ recently – as in the past few months – but I guess… we still see each other from time to time… just not like it used to be. Anyway, every time I _do_ see him… my heart seems to skip a beat. Honestly, I find myself thinking about him a lot. He's so strong and handsome… _achingly _handsome. And when he says my name I… well… anyway, back to the original point, I guess it would be safe to say that I… do love him. Maybe. I think. I just… I don't know… what to do…" She saddles me with a look of innocence and uncertainty, still chewing on those nails of hers.

After all that, I can only sigh in response.

"And? Have you… tried communicating any of this to him?" I reply with more than just a bit of exasperation laced into my words, turning around and bending over to pick up my water bottle off of the floor. "Does he know how you feel?" I press the metal canister to my parched lips, eyes closing just a bit as the cool liquid blazes a trail of icy rejuvenation down my throat. I can feel the tension slowly draining away from my features now, breathing slowing and muscles relaxing as a gentle sort of soreness settles in over my body. When I open my eyes again I see my own reflection staring back at me from the mirror. I am absolutely flushed from head to toe and my hanging breasts seem poised to spill out of my tight little ruby sports bra, given the way I am stooped over so awkwardly.

"Well, we've had sex. Many, many times in fact."

The water bottle clatters to the floor and a spray of liquid ejects from my mouth, splattering against the mirrored walls in thick globules of visually manifested disbelief.

"He likes it rough, too. And dirty. Really dirty. Sometimes he even-"

"T-that's _quite_ alright!" I cry out at the top of my lungs. I do not think I've ever cut somebody off in the middle of a sentence faster than I just did so. "I-I'm not interested in hearing any details so spare me, please." The absolute _last_ image I want burned into my head at the moment is that of Luxanna Crownguard being fucked six ways from Sunday. Just… _god _no. Kill me first. "Anyway," I mutter under my breath, heaving a sigh of trepidation, "what is the problem then, exactly? If you… love him so much, as you say?"

For a moment Lux falters, her lips parting as she hesitates to respond. Her sullen gaze wavers and a fresh batch of heat rushes to flood her cheeks with a deep crimson hue. "That's the thing. I… I don't even know… if he feels the same way about me." She glances down at her open palms before placing both hands behind her back, interlocking her fingers. "And more importantly, my family would never approve of him. He's not even a Demacian, much less a noble. They would never-"

I feel a knot form in my throat as something akin to anger bubbles to the surface. Before I even realize what I am doing I have lashed out and grabbed Lux by the collar of her shirt, nearly yanking the poor girl off her feet entirely. "They would never _what?"_ I snap at her, my sapphire gaze threatening to bore a hole in her skull. _Wow._ Where is _this _coming from all of a sudden? Something she said really struck a chord with me. "Listen to me Luxanna, and listen _very _carefully," I lilt emphatically as I force her diminutive frame against mine, in such a way that our breasts are smushed together and our gazes are locked. "To _hell _with what anyone else says or thinks_._ Do you understand?" I honestly cannot believe the words that are coming out of my mouth right now, moreover that I am uttering them with such conviction… and to _this _particular girl, of all people. "If you love him, then you _owe_ it to yourself," I am half yelling and half pleading at this point, struggling in vain to choke back a flood of emotion as my grip on her collar begins to falter. "You owe it to yourself… to follow your heart, for all those who _cannot!"_

My eyes go wide and the tears begin to flow down my cheeks en masse.

_Follow your heart._

For a long time I have denied myself this very pursuit, the most fundamental of life's pleasures. I have spent many a night awake, worried sick about how others would perceive me, about what they would say behind my back if they were to learn my secrets, my desires. For too long I have withered under the thumb of my own self-inflicted guilt and scorn… but all of that ends tonight. I will no longer hide; I will no longer pretend to be anyone else but myself.

"Fiora… are you… alright?" Lux gazes up at me with those wavering ice-blue eyes of hers, the look of baffled concern on her face genuine. She holds onto my hips now, having embraced me the whole time I've been sobbing into her shoulder. How embarrassing… I have held nothing but contempt for this girl for so long and _still _she behaves so kindly and congenially with me. I am such a fool sometimes.

"I-I'm sorry, Lux. I… I have to… go." I leave her embrace and make my way to the door, but not before turning one last time to cast a final glance back at the doe-eyed young blonde, a look of absolute bewilderment still plastered across her features. What comes out of my mouth next probably won't do much to alleviate said confusion. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I smile softly and say, "thank you."

It's about time I took my own advice for a change. It's about time…

I follow my heart.

I am standing in the hallway just outside of his door now, dressed as I was during my training. I came straight from there, not even stopping to shower or gather my belongings along the way. My skin remains flushed and warm, curves still glistening under the waning moonlight. My chest is heaving too… did I… run here? I cannot even remember anymore._ Take a deep breath._ One of my hands collapses around his doorknob, fingers curling tentatively against the polished brass. The other moves to rap its knuckles lightly across the wood. My heart is pounding, my body trembling… I have never felt so much anxiety over anything, ever before. But… even so, my lips part, and I whisper five little words that may change my life forever.

"Talon… may I come in?"


End file.
